Work Text:
The clock neared 4:00 am.
You sat at your little desk in the lab, poring over several cuneiform texts and old photos of temple walls, trying to decipher the ancient incantations of a dead language. Across the room was Egon, delicately rewiring a proton pack with surgical precision.
Hours of silence passed between the two of you as you worked, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper or scraping of a chair, but it was a comfortable quietness. Egon’s presence was cozy, familiar. Oftentimes, you’d venture down into the lab despite not having any tasks, just to be around him. Egon usually preferred to be alone when he was engrossed in his work, and had no qualms about kicking out an idle person, but you were always welcome. One day, you’d finally summoned your courage to ask why, and he matter-of-factly replied that he liked your company. He had his attention on the spores he was prodding and, lucky for you, didn’t see your flustered reaction.
Coffee could only buy so much time, and the eventual crash hit you all at once. Your eyes grew heavy. Your vision blurred. The words were getting harder and harder to read. You pushed the books aside, crossed your arms on the desk and laid your head down, too tired to even think of making more coffee. Oh, it felt so good to close your eyes. Soft waves of drowsiness started to overtake you into something deeper…
You jerked yourself awake. You glanced at Egon, who had his back turned to you. Small sparks flashed around him as he soldered the fried wirings of Winston’s proton pack. You put your head back down. Just a few minutes. You could limit yourself to a short break, but now was not the time for sleep. You wouldn’t allow yourself to drift off entirely; this was something you could reign back, just like in undergrad. Just to rest your eyes, wait out the caffeine crash a bit so you could keep going. You normally retired much earlier, but these texts were urgently important for him, so you decided to remain awake with him and work, despite his feeble protests.
You weren’t asleep. Not fully. Some part of you was aware of your surroundings, but most of your head was blank, shadows of thoughts lazily flitted along the periphery of your mind, but never quite touched down to full consciousness. Little noises lulled around you—the muted crackling of Egon’s soldering iron, the ticking of the clock, the groans and hisses of the building’s old pipes, and—
Footsteps.
Your ears perked, gently pulling you back to the waking world. Somebody was approaching, but you were too tired to muster the desire to look up.
Wordlessly, Egon took off his coat and draped it over your sleeping form. It was still warm from hugging his body, and it smelled faintly of him—aftershave mingled with a light, woody scent that was so delightfully Egon. For a moment he stood over you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders under his oversized coat. A few strands of hair slipped over your face, the tingle on your nose making you frown slightly.
He reached toward you and gently ran his fingers across your forehead, pushing the hair out of your face with delicate, uncertain movements. His fingers were calloused, roughened by years of burns and scratches and blisters from being a Ghostbuster. Even so, his warm touch was soft, light as a feather as he tucked the loose strands behind your ear. The gesture soothed you toward real sleep, and a small smile tugged at your lips as you drifted off, cozy under his warm jacket.
His nerve depleted and he pulled away, took extra caution to be silent as he walked back to his work table. The soldering iron would be retired until morning to preserve the quietness; he could work on harvesting some matured rattlesnake fern spores in the meantime. He took his seat and couldn’t help but glance back at you. You were completely zonked out, but your small smile remained, the sight of which made his stomach leap just a bit, brought heat to his face.
Yes, he quite enjoyed your company.